DOI Heft:
July 4, 1885
DOI Seite / Zitierlink:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17759#0016
July 4, 1885.]
A SOAP-AND-WATERLESS JULY.
(A Wee-daring Novelette.)
From the Prince Zoedoni, Caviare Iiotel, London, to the Duchesa
della Bianessa, Marghati, near JRamsghati, Italy.
Dugkissima Rebecxah,
I got ^ your letter, which was delightful, because it was
yours, hut which made me feel like a schoolboy who had got a
vacona toppo mi bacca. Yes, it is quite true. We'are going to be
married. I met her in one of the river tea-gardens. It was at
Putney. I had never seen a woman like her before. She is so white,
so beautifully clean. I never saw anything so clean except the virgin
snow on the Anti-maccassa. She is so different to you. Felicitate
me! "Write to me at my future Eden. It is called Welsharp, near
Endon, Arryshire. It is the choice of my beautiful Soap-dish.
From the Lady Sarah Snookes, Buckingham Palace Boad, London,
to Lady Chelsebus, British Embassies, Vienna and Constan-
tinople.
The season has been, horribly dull—only one marriage worth
talking about. The second daughter of the Right Hon. the Earl of
Battersea Park, the Lady Jinnivere, is going to be united to Prince
Zoedoni, the Roman Toff, whose hats—three of them worn one
upon the other in full dress—are simply lovely. The Earl did
not care about it as the Lady Jinnivere had had another young man
keeping company with her—her cousin in the Blues, Lord Hampton
Court. But the Prince carried all before him—his performances on
his national musical instrument, the mouth harp, were irresistible.
From the Lady Clara Beer de Beer, London, to Miss de Rosherville,
Thames Steamboat Citizen B, off Gravesend.
The wedding was first-rate. Real Saumur champagne, ginger-pop,
cold beef, and what I may call all the delicacies of the season. The
Chief Rabbi, who had at first refused his consent, had given it, and
behaved quite too charmingly. The Prince kept all his hats on at one
of them. They are going to Welsharp, near Endon, for a month to be
quiet. I fancy Naso will soon be bored. She ought to have taken
him to some lively place, such as Southend or Boolong.
From the Prince Zoedoni, Welsharp, near Endon, to the Duchesa
della Bianessa, Marghati, near Bamsghati, Tanetta.
Dxtckissima Mia,
I never saw so much water before ! This place is a perfect
paradisio, but I seem always to be washing my face. This is a
nusanza. As for the kitchen, it is perfectly awful—no fried fish,
no tripo, no inioni! But still I am very happy. Ma Sopanvatura
is an angel!
From the Duchesa della Bianessa, Marghati, to the Prince Zoedoni,
Welsharp, England.
Caro Mio Ciapponi,
Your wife certainly bores you. She is evidently a
nusanza. We know what our men want—a slappa sido di nodello.
I have half a mind to write to her to tell her to give you a ponciello
sulla nobba! Poor fellow. Povero diavolo, how miserable you
must be! I know how you hate water!
From the Princess Zoedoni, to Lady Blaunche Ditchling, of the
European Embassies.
Dearest Blattnche,
Of course, I am awfully happy, and can't be too proud of
being married to an Italian nobleman of Hebrew descent! It is
such a rise in the world for the daughter of an English Earl. Still
I do not like all his foreign habits. You see he will drink beer (he
calls it mezzo e mezzo) with the servants in the village ale-house,
and never dresses for dinner. He always wears the same flannel-
shirt. But he looks so different from our young men—such long
hair and so picturesque! But I am afraid he is bored! Isn't that
dreadful'< However, he seemed quite pleased the other day when I
got him some garlic ! Dear fellow! He yawned afterwards, and he
sleeps a great deal. Yes. I am afraid he is bored.
From |Lady Blaunche Easiboots, of the European Embassies, to
Princess Zoedoni.
You little silly! You would marry a noble rum 'un. If he won't
make himself an advertisement for What's-his-name's soap, well
you can't wash your hands of him now. Bored is he ? Then be
proud of him. He is clever. Only clever men are bored. Well-
educated ones are school-bored. You ask my advice P Yes. Well,
it is this, do as you like and let him do as he likes. Then you '11
both do as you both like, and you '11 both be happy. You little goose.
From the Prince Zoedoni, to the Count Maccaroni, Hatton Garden,
London.
Caro Bobbo,
Pray send me all the penny-dreadfuls, London Journals, and
" Pink 'uns " you can find. Also half a dozen cutty pipes, a pound
of shag, and a hundred.penny Pickwicks. Such .a place, caro mio !
9
But my'wife is just a little too particular. She expects me to brush
my hair more than once a day ! What a nusanza ! e boro, boro !
The fact is, we Italian Ciappis are not accustomed to this sort of
thing!
From the Lady Sarah Snookes, Marghati, near JRamsghati, Italy, to
Lady Chelsebus, British Embassies, Vienna and Constan-
tinople.
Yes, they are both here. The Prince is constantly with the
Duchesa della Bianessa. Their dancing the other evening in the
polka-mazurka at the Aula Marina was the talk of the place.
Lord Hampton Court saw them, and carried the tale to the poor
little Princess. I met her and her rejected admirer going down
to the bathing-machines. They, of course, knew that near the sea
they would be safe from observation of the Prince. He would never
come there ! I see many complications ahead. Well, they will all
be the fault of A Soap-and-Waterless July!
THE GIFT OF REPARTEE.
These are qualities, esteemed by some, to which I lay no claim,
But look down on them, with quiet scorn, as commonplace and tame,
Such as industry, sobriety, and honesty, forsooth,
Punctuality, and accurate adherence to the truth.
I 've been told by captious persons that my " form " is deuced bad,
That my language is irreverent—in fact, that I'm a Cad I
But, to balance my shortcomings, e'en my enemies agree
That kind Nature has endowed me with the Gift of Repartee.
Every day—occasion serving—I contrive to make a hit
With some dazzling inspiration of my keen and ready wit.
My impromptus are as luminous as lightning, and as hot,
Sometimes playful, sometimes withering, but always on the spot.
Yet the smartest things I utter have occasionally led
To results which made me feel that they had best been left unsaid;
For Society abounds in stupid Philistines, you see,
Quite incapable of relishing the charms of Repartee!
I 'ye a muscular acquaintance who is always full of chaff,
And against me, 'tother evening, he contrived to raise a laugh
With a somewhat rough and vulgar kind of joke—but let that pass !—
I rejoined, with sparkling humour, " Jones, my boy, you are an ass!"
Whereupon he struck me suddenly, and just between the eyes,
With a force that caused me no small pain and very great surprise.
It was then, I may admit, the notion first occurred to me
That it might have been as well had I foregone that Repartee.
Once my venerable Aunt to reprehend me felt inclined;—
She's a Psedo-Anabaptist, of a gloomy turn of mind;—
After twenty minutes' preaching, I had had about enough,
So I wittily exclaimed, " Beloved Aunty, you 're a muff!"
The old woman—at her dulness you will be amazed, I trow—
Proved unable to appreciate that admirable mot.
She left every ounce of property she owned away from me,
And I lost a handsome fortune by that brilliant Repartee !
I was being cross-examined in a Court of Law, one day,
When the Judge exclaimed, " Speak louder, Sir! I can't hear what
you say! "
I perceived my chance, and of it straight resolved to make the most,
So I shouted, " Why, old Cockywax, you're deafer than a post! "
His Lordship did not see the joke, but took me up quite short,
And, in point of fact, committed me for gross contempt of Court.
Off to gaol I went, and years elapsed before I was set free,
All because that deaf old. duffer had no taste for Repartee !
I was once in love, and deeply too, with One surpassing fair,
Of romantic disposition, languid eyes, and tawny hair.
She was plump and she was pious, this inimitable One,
And she vowed she loved me dearly—but she wasn't fond of fun!
I remember, when she kissed me of her own accord one day,
I exclaimed, " I '11 tell your Mother ! " in my scintillating way.
Well, she slapped my face and sent me to the right-about, for she,
Strange to say, was quite disgusted by that graceful Repartee.
This inestimable gift of mine, I candidly confess,
If appraised by its effects, can scarcely rank as a success.
It has cost me more than competence, and liberty besides,
Not to mention countless^ hosts of friends and half a dozen brides.
I've been kicked with noisome frequency, and punched till I was sore,
Trampled on with high-heeled boots until I wallowed in my gore.
Yet, despite the thousand sorrows badinage has wrought to me,
There is nothing I'm so proud of as my Gift of Repartee!
" Baelbel" Oegans.—The Tizer and Licensed Victuallers' Gazette.
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
A SOAP-AND-WATERLESS JULY.
(A Wee-daring Novelette.)
From the Prince Zoedoni, Caviare Iiotel, London, to the Duchesa
della Bianessa, Marghati, near JRamsghati, Italy.
Dugkissima Rebecxah,
I got ^ your letter, which was delightful, because it was
yours, hut which made me feel like a schoolboy who had got a
vacona toppo mi bacca. Yes, it is quite true. We'are going to be
married. I met her in one of the river tea-gardens. It was at
Putney. I had never seen a woman like her before. She is so white,
so beautifully clean. I never saw anything so clean except the virgin
snow on the Anti-maccassa. She is so different to you. Felicitate
me! "Write to me at my future Eden. It is called Welsharp, near
Endon, Arryshire. It is the choice of my beautiful Soap-dish.
From the Lady Sarah Snookes, Buckingham Palace Boad, London,
to Lady Chelsebus, British Embassies, Vienna and Constan-
tinople.
The season has been, horribly dull—only one marriage worth
talking about. The second daughter of the Right Hon. the Earl of
Battersea Park, the Lady Jinnivere, is going to be united to Prince
Zoedoni, the Roman Toff, whose hats—three of them worn one
upon the other in full dress—are simply lovely. The Earl did
not care about it as the Lady Jinnivere had had another young man
keeping company with her—her cousin in the Blues, Lord Hampton
Court. But the Prince carried all before him—his performances on
his national musical instrument, the mouth harp, were irresistible.
From the Lady Clara Beer de Beer, London, to Miss de Rosherville,
Thames Steamboat Citizen B, off Gravesend.
The wedding was first-rate. Real Saumur champagne, ginger-pop,
cold beef, and what I may call all the delicacies of the season. The
Chief Rabbi, who had at first refused his consent, had given it, and
behaved quite too charmingly. The Prince kept all his hats on at one
of them. They are going to Welsharp, near Endon, for a month to be
quiet. I fancy Naso will soon be bored. She ought to have taken
him to some lively place, such as Southend or Boolong.
From the Prince Zoedoni, Welsharp, near Endon, to the Duchesa
della Bianessa, Marghati, near Bamsghati, Tanetta.
Dxtckissima Mia,
I never saw so much water before ! This place is a perfect
paradisio, but I seem always to be washing my face. This is a
nusanza. As for the kitchen, it is perfectly awful—no fried fish,
no tripo, no inioni! But still I am very happy. Ma Sopanvatura
is an angel!
From the Duchesa della Bianessa, Marghati, to the Prince Zoedoni,
Welsharp, England.
Caro Mio Ciapponi,
Your wife certainly bores you. She is evidently a
nusanza. We know what our men want—a slappa sido di nodello.
I have half a mind to write to her to tell her to give you a ponciello
sulla nobba! Poor fellow. Povero diavolo, how miserable you
must be! I know how you hate water!
From the Princess Zoedoni, to Lady Blaunche Ditchling, of the
European Embassies.
Dearest Blattnche,
Of course, I am awfully happy, and can't be too proud of
being married to an Italian nobleman of Hebrew descent! It is
such a rise in the world for the daughter of an English Earl. Still
I do not like all his foreign habits. You see he will drink beer (he
calls it mezzo e mezzo) with the servants in the village ale-house,
and never dresses for dinner. He always wears the same flannel-
shirt. But he looks so different from our young men—such long
hair and so picturesque! But I am afraid he is bored! Isn't that
dreadful'< However, he seemed quite pleased the other day when I
got him some garlic ! Dear fellow! He yawned afterwards, and he
sleeps a great deal. Yes. I am afraid he is bored.
From |Lady Blaunche Easiboots, of the European Embassies, to
Princess Zoedoni.
You little silly! You would marry a noble rum 'un. If he won't
make himself an advertisement for What's-his-name's soap, well
you can't wash your hands of him now. Bored is he ? Then be
proud of him. He is clever. Only clever men are bored. Well-
educated ones are school-bored. You ask my advice P Yes. Well,
it is this, do as you like and let him do as he likes. Then you '11
both do as you both like, and you '11 both be happy. You little goose.
From the Prince Zoedoni, to the Count Maccaroni, Hatton Garden,
London.
Caro Bobbo,
Pray send me all the penny-dreadfuls, London Journals, and
" Pink 'uns " you can find. Also half a dozen cutty pipes, a pound
of shag, and a hundred.penny Pickwicks. Such .a place, caro mio !
9
But my'wife is just a little too particular. She expects me to brush
my hair more than once a day ! What a nusanza ! e boro, boro !
The fact is, we Italian Ciappis are not accustomed to this sort of
thing!
From the Lady Sarah Snookes, Marghati, near JRamsghati, Italy, to
Lady Chelsebus, British Embassies, Vienna and Constan-
tinople.
Yes, they are both here. The Prince is constantly with the
Duchesa della Bianessa. Their dancing the other evening in the
polka-mazurka at the Aula Marina was the talk of the place.
Lord Hampton Court saw them, and carried the tale to the poor
little Princess. I met her and her rejected admirer going down
to the bathing-machines. They, of course, knew that near the sea
they would be safe from observation of the Prince. He would never
come there ! I see many complications ahead. Well, they will all
be the fault of A Soap-and-Waterless July!
THE GIFT OF REPARTEE.
These are qualities, esteemed by some, to which I lay no claim,
But look down on them, with quiet scorn, as commonplace and tame,
Such as industry, sobriety, and honesty, forsooth,
Punctuality, and accurate adherence to the truth.
I 've been told by captious persons that my " form " is deuced bad,
That my language is irreverent—in fact, that I'm a Cad I
But, to balance my shortcomings, e'en my enemies agree
That kind Nature has endowed me with the Gift of Repartee.
Every day—occasion serving—I contrive to make a hit
With some dazzling inspiration of my keen and ready wit.
My impromptus are as luminous as lightning, and as hot,
Sometimes playful, sometimes withering, but always on the spot.
Yet the smartest things I utter have occasionally led
To results which made me feel that they had best been left unsaid;
For Society abounds in stupid Philistines, you see,
Quite incapable of relishing the charms of Repartee!
I 'ye a muscular acquaintance who is always full of chaff,
And against me, 'tother evening, he contrived to raise a laugh
With a somewhat rough and vulgar kind of joke—but let that pass !—
I rejoined, with sparkling humour, " Jones, my boy, you are an ass!"
Whereupon he struck me suddenly, and just between the eyes,
With a force that caused me no small pain and very great surprise.
It was then, I may admit, the notion first occurred to me
That it might have been as well had I foregone that Repartee.
Once my venerable Aunt to reprehend me felt inclined;—
She's a Psedo-Anabaptist, of a gloomy turn of mind;—
After twenty minutes' preaching, I had had about enough,
So I wittily exclaimed, " Beloved Aunty, you 're a muff!"
The old woman—at her dulness you will be amazed, I trow—
Proved unable to appreciate that admirable mot.
She left every ounce of property she owned away from me,
And I lost a handsome fortune by that brilliant Repartee !
I was being cross-examined in a Court of Law, one day,
When the Judge exclaimed, " Speak louder, Sir! I can't hear what
you say! "
I perceived my chance, and of it straight resolved to make the most,
So I shouted, " Why, old Cockywax, you're deafer than a post! "
His Lordship did not see the joke, but took me up quite short,
And, in point of fact, committed me for gross contempt of Court.
Off to gaol I went, and years elapsed before I was set free,
All because that deaf old. duffer had no taste for Repartee !
I was once in love, and deeply too, with One surpassing fair,
Of romantic disposition, languid eyes, and tawny hair.
She was plump and she was pious, this inimitable One,
And she vowed she loved me dearly—but she wasn't fond of fun!
I remember, when she kissed me of her own accord one day,
I exclaimed, " I '11 tell your Mother ! " in my scintillating way.
Well, she slapped my face and sent me to the right-about, for she,
Strange to say, was quite disgusted by that graceful Repartee.
This inestimable gift of mine, I candidly confess,
If appraised by its effects, can scarcely rank as a success.
It has cost me more than competence, and liberty besides,
Not to mention countless^ hosts of friends and half a dozen brides.
I've been kicked with noisome frequency, and punched till I was sore,
Trampled on with high-heeled boots until I wallowed in my gore.
Yet, despite the thousand sorrows badinage has wrought to me,
There is nothing I'm so proud of as my Gift of Repartee!
" Baelbel" Oegans.—The Tizer and Licensed Victuallers' Gazette.
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.